


Amaranthine

by ghee (sabakunoghee)



Category: Bumilangit Cinematic Universe, Gundala (2019)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-11-15 02:51:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabakunoghee/pseuds/ghee
Summary: Awang and Sancaka in 150 words.





	1. Love Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for this [this event](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EFz2MOCVUAA787I?format=jpg&name=medium) (supposed to be drawing but, who cares, I can't draw) in 150 words.

The love letter wasn’t their style,

But he considered it as Awang’s first and last,

“Do you have any idea who would do this to him?” the senior officer asked, “Nine stabs weren’t a joke – probably the culprit had a lifelong grudge against him.”

Sancaka couldn’t process the rest of the policeman’s words. He stood there and stared blankly on the cold body he used to hug. Awang was found dead with his chest on the ground. No bruises. He didn’t fight back – he had _no_ chance to do so. Those piercing wounds were deep, quick, obviously executed by _professionals._

There was a piece of messy scribble tainted by blood in his petrified grip; he was about to stick it on the refrigerator door, just how he usually communicated with his spouse when one of them had to leave their house.

_San, I’ll come home tomorrow night._

Awang never did.


	2. Holding Hands

His later reactions could be easily predicted. Knees to the ground. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Sadness and anger sent shivers down his spine; Sancaka finally was able to touch Awang’s hand after hours of investigation. The police line was still there, marking the crime scene with black and yellow, encircling the small house he and Awang bought a few months ago. A week ago, they laughed together when Awang chose the gaudy curtain. Three days ago, Sancaka scolded him for breaking the hammer when they were about to hang their pictures on the wall.

They just moved in. They planned to fill this little castle with love and laughter. They had abandoned the dark path behind them – but Awang was too valuable to be taken away, _the people_ preferred him dead.

Sancaka whispered countlessly while holding Awang’s hand. Open your eyes. Wake up. _I beg._

_There were no pulses._


	3. Forehead Kiss

“Perhaps we should’ve run further, don’t you think?”

“But then again – _where to_?”

Awang was a kind-hearted little boy who was betrayed by the world and grew up being a nonchalant, almost egotistical individual who trusted only himself. Sancaka met him when they were kids; the older guy taught him how to get his shit done, to protect himself, to _survive. _As they grew older, Awang decided to ‘sell’ his prominent skill in hand-to-hand combat and was baptized as a proud member of an infamous underground syndicate. As a friend, Sancaka told him not to. As a lover, Sancaka begged him to quit.

As a _human_, Sancaka pleaded to run away.

_No one could escape Bapak._

Sancaka learned it the hardest way possible. _I’m sorry,_ he bowed down, touched Awang’s forehead with his trembling lips. His stiff face was cold. _Way too cold._

“ – tell me, Awang, where should I go?”


	4. Hugging

The first time Sancaka saw Awang in a black tuxedo, they were exchanging the unbreakable vow.

Awang never really favored fashion; his favorite outfit was a pair of tattered jeans, combined with a plain t-shirt, topped with checkered flannel. He let his shoulder-length hair loose and most of the time he didn’t even bother to shave his facial hair. Sancaka occasionally complained, especially when they had to attend a social gathering, helplessly asked his partner to wear some appropriate clothes.

“The burial will be held shortly,” said the mortician who run this funeral home, “…Sir.”

Sancaka was hugging his deceased spouse when she announced it. His face sunk in Awang’s chest – who was properly dressed in a fine set of sophisticated attire. This was his last time seeing Awang, _and God, he was still, and will always be, beautiful_.

“Thank you, Ma’am, for making him look a little less lifeless.”


	5. Head Patting

‘It was horrible, Sir,’

_Indeed._

‘We will do our best in investigating this case,’

_No, you would never._

‘Please notify us if you have further information.’

_This is not a homicide; this is first-degree murder._

Sancaka thought he was strong enough to witness the funeral rites and he has never been this wrong his entire life. The priest allowed him to express farewell. His feet were wobbly, his hands were shaking violently, and he eventually made it with the help of a friend. As he looked into the open casket, Awang greeted him, eyes closed, hands intertwined, rested peacefully on his stomach. Sancaka couldn’t help but extended his hand. Reached the top of Awang’s head. Ran his fingers through the jet-black hair.

He used to do this every time Awang felt insecure or was distracted by an intense nightmare.

“Sleep well, Awang,” Sancaka hissed, _I’ll take care of the rest._


	6. Cheek Kiss

His first day without Awang was devastating,

Numb. _Aimless_.

_This bedroom was always this vast, or is it just me_, he wondered.

Sancaka found it hard to leave the bed, to wash his face, to brew a nice cup of coffee. Awang used to do all of those things since he was naturally a morning person. He woke up early unless he was dead-tired from working overtime; he would do the remaining dishes Sancaka forgot to wash and he often cooked a simple meal if Sancaka was too exhausted after taking a double shift. Sometimes, Awang took him outside for dinner, bought two bottles of beer and they shared stories from their workplace. Sancaka usually was the first one who felt sleepy and he would leave a peck on Awang’s cheek,

“Goodnight, Wang,”

He whispered as he kissed the empty pillow beside his drowsy head,

( - it _still_ smells like him. )


	7. French Kiss

Awang was rough – it was Sancaka’s first impression about the sturdy man who later became his lover. They were both young back then; the sexual approach was inevitable and _God_, Awang was more than just desperate to touch, _to claim_, the beautiful man. It was storming outside when they first kissed. Their clothes were soaked and the innocent peck quickly transformed into a deep, brutal fight of lips and tongue. Sancaka remembered how hard it was for him to maintain his trembling legs stood straight. His hips touched the kitchen counter as the taller man effortlessly put him on the soapstone. The rest of the incident was blurry – but he still could feel the warmth.

Now, how to stop imagining Awang’s touch when he was no longer there.

Three days. Three, _agonizing_, days. Every inch of the room brought him nothing but a nightmare and it would linger that way.

**Author's Note:**

> 1a: of or relating to an amaranth  
b: UNDYING


End file.
